


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik is a Sweetheart, Established Relationship, Knitting, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23962234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles is always cold, and wears hideous sweaters and gloves. Erik gives him a wardrobe makeover.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 110





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I never posted this. It first appeared in the fanzine Bookends. I've added a title graphic and an image of Charles and the ugly Christmas sweater.

Charles Xavier was always cold. It was just a fact, a part of who he was, like his bright blue eyes, his crimson lips, his unmoving legs.

As such, Erik Lehnsherr had no problem with this. Indeed, he loved the excuse to cuddle with Charles, to wrap himself around him, to heat Charles up in more ways than one.

Erik only had one problem with Charles' being cold, and that was the man's abysmal fashion sense. He wore the frumpiest of sweaters, cardigans mostly, and he alternated between three pairs of ever-more-ragged fingerless gloves. He dressed like someone's grandfather, even though he was barely twenty-one. It was just one of the many things they argued about.

They'd met their freshman year at college, assigned to the same floor of the same dorm in Mutant Student Housing. It hadn't been love at first sight, not by a long shot. The first time they'd met, Erik had been incensed by Charles' assimilationist views and had spent three hours in impassioned argument in favor of the separatists and the Genosha proposal. Xavier, for his part, had argued his side with equal passion, and the debate raged in spare moments for most of their freshman year.

What had been astonishing was how much Erik enjoyed it. No matter how infuriating he found Charles' positions to be, the reality was their debates were the greatest intellectual challenge Erik had found thus far in college. Charles tested him, made him think, made him sweat, no matter what the subject.

And the same went for their chess matches. Those started early their sophomore year, after Erik had encountered Charles outside their dorm with a travel chess set on his lap. They were evenly matched, Erik a little more aggressive, Charles a little more devious.

And somewhere along the way, Erik had fallen head-over-heels in love. He couldn't pinpoint a moment when it had happened, though. Sure, he'd always found Charles attractive, with those sapphire eyes and shaggy chestnut hair. But it was more than that. It was the passion with which he argued, his acerbic humor, his ridiculously big heart.

Perhaps foolishly, he'd hoped that Charles would pick up on his attention, but the man had far too many scruples about the use of his telepathy, so Erik had been left to pine in silence, unwilling to risk what he had with Charles in pursuit of something more.

Until one night, over their hundred-and-somethingth chess match and a bottle of illegally-obtained scotch. Erik, just drunk enough for his tongue to be loosened, had blurted the truth when an equally-tipsy Charles had asked, "Erik, why don't you date?"

"Because I'm in love with someone who doesn't see me as anything but a friend."

"Tell him," Charles had urged. "I'm sure he'll be glad to know."

Erik wasn't so sure, but he was drunk enough to blunder ahead. "It's you, Charles."

Charles' sapphire eyes went wide, and he stared at Erik, dumbstruck. For a minute, Erik thought he'd made the biggest mistake of his life, then Charles had seized a double-handful of his shirt and hauled him across the chessboard for a bruising kiss.

They’d been nearly inseparable before; they _were_ inseparable after. And prior to the start of their junior year, they took the plunge and moved in together.

Most of the time they were blissfully happy, even when in the middle of one of their epic debates/arguments. Most of the time.

Now was not one of those times.

Erik was in a foul mood to begin with. Charles was intent on dragging him to a holiday party, which would be 98% devoted to Christmas and with only an odd decoration or two as a nod to Hanukkah and maybe to Kwanzaa. Erik could rant for hours about that.

Not that Erik would want to go to any party. He hated people, everyone except for Charles and his Mama and his sister, and sometimes he wasn’t so sure about his sister. Charles, though, was a social creature, who loved to be around people, no matter how much the crowds played hell with his telepathy. So Erik was sucking it up and going to the party. Just not happily.

He stared at the clothes laid out on the foot of their bed with unabashed horror. The tweed slacks were an abomination. The white button-down was just meh. And the sweater damned near defied description.

It was a green cardigan festooned with embroidered poinsettias and little gold beads.

Erik stared. “You can’t be serious, Charles.”

Charles transferred himself onto the bed and started threading his feet through the legs of his pants. “Ugly holiday sweaters are a tradition.”

“That thing goes beyond ugly.”

Charles lifted his legs in his hands and casually tossed them out straight. “I like it. It’s warm.”

“That can’t be your only criterion.”

“It pretty much is.” Charles rolled onto his side to work the pants up over his butt.

“You’re just so gorgeous -- I’d like to show you off.” Erik sat beside him on the bed and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

Charles huffed. “Then find me some clothes that meet your standards. But they’d damned well better be warm.”

“Deal. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” Erik kissed Charles again, on the lips this time, then he glanced back at the foot of the bed. “But about tonight--”

**~xXx~**

It hadn’t been that hard to convince Charles to stay in. They’d wound up watching a movie. Well, _watching_ was the wrong word. They’d spent most of it making out, and Erik really wasn’t sure how it had ended. But given the choice between a movie and kissing Charles, Charles would win every time.

They lazed in bed for much of the next morning then braved a mall, one that was rather more upscale than Erik was used to. But he knew Charles would want quality, and he certainly had the means to afford it.

Charles’ wealth had made Erik uncomfortable at first. He still wouldn’t say he was entirely comfortable, but he’d learned to deal with it. It was just another aspect of who Charles was.

They found a store that, judging from the window displays, would be a good place to start. He wanted to get Charles clothes that were more modern but kind of classy, because again, that was who Charles was.

Charles stared dubiously at the pile of clothes that grew on his lap. “Are you sure this’ll be warm enough?” he asked.

“It will be with some long underwear underneath.”

“Long underwear? That hardly seems to fit in with your vision of sexy new clothes.”

“The clothes over them will still be sexy. No one but me will know your secret.”

Charles laughed.

In the end, they wound up hitting four more shops, including an outdoors store, where they found an abundance of long underwear, and a shoe store for a pair of soft suede ankle boots, acquiring almost too many bags to carry.

But they couldn’t find suitable replacements for Charles’ ratty fingerless gloves.

“I’m not surprised,” Charles said. “The company that made them went out of business a couple of years ago, and I have yet to find anyone else that makes gloves like these. I’m sorry, love, but you’ll just have to endure them until they fall apart. I don’t know what I’ll do then.”

“What makes them so special?”

“The wool is really fine and really soft, so they’re almost weightless but really insulating. They keep my hands warm, but I hardly know they’re there.”

Erik ran a hand over the wool, because of course Charles was wearing the damned things. He nearly got distracted by the hand inside the glove, so strong and supple. The fine yarn really did feel nice, and an idea began forming in Erik’s head.

When he was able to get a few minutes alone, he called his Mama. “What’s wrong, _Schatz_?” she asked.

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“I know my son.”

Erik sighed. “Can you teach me how to knit a pair of gloves for Charles?”

“Gloves? Couldn’t you start with something easier, like a blanket?”

Erik spilled the whole story.

Edie sighed, but her voice was full of affection. “If it’s gloves Charles needs, then gloves he shall have.”

She took him to a yarn shop the next day. The array of skeins was almost overwhelming, but with the aid of his mama and the shop clerk, he found some black wool that was soft and fine and just a little fuzzy. Then because he fell in love with a thicker yarn in shades of blue like Charles’ eyes, he bought enough to knit a blanket.

He hid most of the supplies at his mama’s, keeping just enough to get started. She’d showed him the basics, enough to start practicing, and practice he did.

Then, once he felt ready, he started on the blanket. The pattern he had was composed of individual squares, easy to hide away when Charles was around. It was designed for beginners, and each square had a different pattern.

Once he was done, his mama showed him how to assemble it and make a border.

Then he started YouTube-ing “How to Knit Fingerless Gloves.” And nearly panicked. This looked _hard_.

But he pushed onward and eventually his attempts began to resemble gloves.

He kept going, making several trips back to the shop for more yarn. The shop gal had smiled at him and said, “This boy of yours must really be something special if you’re going to this much trouble.”

“He is, ma’am. He is.” He spilled the story of why he was doing this, and she proceeded to hook him up with patterns for a scarf and cap. He had to buy the yarn and needles, but that seemed fair.

It took nearly another month before he had gloves he thought remotely worthy of Charles. It was getting hard to find time alone to work, and Charles was beginning to regard him suspiciously, knowing Erik was hiding a secret from his telepathy.

He still wasn’t quite ready to reveal what he’d been working on, though he was close, when Charles had forced the issue one night over Chinese, asking him bluntly, “Are you happy, Erik?”

Erik didn’t even glance up from his noodles. “Yeah. Why?”

Charles poked at his Mongolian beef. “Because if you’re going to break up with me, I wish you’d just get it over with.”

Now Erik looked up, dumbstruck. “Break up with you?”

Those bright blue eyes had gone dark and sorrowful, welling with unshed tears. "You've been keeping secrets from me, disappearing at odd hours. If you're seeing someone behind my back, just tell me and get it over with."

For a minute, Erik could say nothing, and of course Charles misinterpreted this. "Right, then. I'm not going to toss you out on the street, but I'd appreciate if you made other arrangements as soon as possible.

Erik couldn't help it. He doubled over laughing.

"Erik?" Charles' voice contained equal parts hurt, anger, and confusion.

Erik managed to say, "Charles, you're an idiot."

Charles spluttered indignantly, and Erik managed to catch his breath enough to say, "I'm not seeing someone else, and I'm not breaking up with you."

"You're not." Hope warred with uncertainty in Charles' words.

"I'm not. I've just been working on a surprise for you."

Charles just stared at him.

"Hang on. I'll get them." The blanket was hidden at his mama's house, but the rest was on a high shelf in the entry closet. He retrieved the sack and held it out to Charles.

The scarf was on top, made of a red chenille yarn that matched Charles' lips. Charles stared at it like it was an alien creature. "You made this?"

"I did," Erik said with defiant pride.

"It's lovely," Charles said, then he reached into the sack and pulled out the matching hat. "But why?"

"Keep going," Erik said, knowing that the next items would explain everything.

Two pairs of black gloves, maybe not quite as good as Charles' ratty ones had once been, but close.

"Gloves," Charles said, voice full of wonder. "You made me gloves."

"Yeah. And a hat. And a scarf. And a blanket."

"Where's the blanket?"

"Hidden at my mom's."

Charles' sapphire eyes still shone with tears, but now they were tears of joy. "This has to be the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Don't say that until you try them on. You might hate them."

"I couldn't possibly." Charles slipped off his old gloves and slid a hand into one of Erik's. His face, impossibly, lit further. "Erik, these are _perfect_."

"Really?"

"Really. Now get down here and kiss me."

Erik did just that.

A little over two years later, to celebrate Charles acceptance to Oxford, Erik took Charles on a picnic.

As they lazed on their blanket -- yes, _that_ blanket -- full of food and tipsy on champagne, Erik tapped Charles' left hand. "Take it off."

"Not on the first date, love," Charles teased, but he tugged his glove off.

Erik rose to one knee and used his powers to retrieve a ring from his pocket. A ring he'd made himself, of intricately braided precious metals. He'd even managed to weave a tiny DNA strand into the design.

Charles was scarcely breathing, blue eyes darting from Erik to the ring back to Erik.

"Charles Xavier," Erik began, trying to match his voice to the gravity of the moment, "will you marry me?"

"I'd be a fool to say no," Charles said, extending his hand.

Erik slid the ring onto Charles' fourth finger.

Charles flexed his hand, marvelling at the ring. His expression shifted for just a moment, looking regretful as he slid his glove back on, concealing the ring.

Erik caught his hand. "I know, _Schatz_." He kissed the backs of his fingers, over the glove. "I _know_. You need to wear them. Don't worry about covering up the ring -- we both know it's there."

Charles beamed. "Now get down here and kiss me."

Erik did. Charles tasted of champagne and strawberries and himself, and Erik couldn't imagine a more perfect moment.

Until the day they were married.

It was a June wedding. Charles wore a midnight-blue tux and matching fingerless gloves.

Made by Erik, of course.


End file.
